


Temptation

by SpoiledAmbrosia



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Brutification, Gen, Growth, Inflation, Intelligence Loss, Muscle Growth, Overeating, Scents & Smells, Size Focus, belly stuffing, chugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 13:51:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20193334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpoiledAmbrosia/pseuds/SpoiledAmbrosia
Summary: Randy gives into his indulgence - it's only unfortunate it happened to be at work.





	Temptation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaredFace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaredFace/gifts).

> another commission for JaredFace!!! hope yall enjoy!!!

It was perfection in toasted brioche, Randy had to take a moment to appreciate it. “Marvelous, isn’t it?” He sighed, avoiding the customer’s eyes as his own fell to the plate, fingers curling together - Randy had to beam, pride puffing his chest. “Turkey, slow roasted and sliced fresh out the oven, a delicate layer of lettuce - butterhead for taste, mesclun for flavor.”

The customer nodded, tight-lipped and brow furrowing. “Mmhm, sounds great. Th-”

“Can’t forget the chicken, no, no,  _ no.  _ Not after we’ve been marinating it for  _ days.  _ Ripened in its own juices, with the kick of some crushed garlic.” 

The customer bit their lips, eyeing the sandwich. “Hmh, gotcha. Hey, could I-”

“Tomatoes - we grow these, so juicy, you could eat them alone! Sliced,  _ cleanly _ , mind you. Drizzled with a light dressing, buttermilk ribbons so fine-”

With a clear of his throat, the customer broke Randy out of his reverie, face filling with the hot rush of blood. The customer gave him a smile that looked just a tad forced, pointing at the bottle of mayo behind the plastic shield. “Think you could put a little more mayo on there? I kinda like it drenched.” Stomach growling below, the customer gave a chuckle as Randy’s face reddened. “You’re sure makin’ that sound  _ good. _ ” 

Randy nodded at once, suddenly shaky hands grasping the squeeze bottle. “Ah, yes, of course! Sorry, it’s just - awfully easy to get into a sandwich!” Randy gave a wistful sigh, mayo squirting over the sliced turkey. “It’s like edible art, I feel. So many layers, so much  _ depth. _ ”

The blonde on the opposite side of the counter gave an impatient tap of his foot, giving another curt nod. “Too bad I’m about to  _ crush _ it, been cravin’ one all day.” A fitting growl came from his stomach, hand moving his tee to cradle his empty belly. “Looks good, dude, that’s all I need.”

Topping off the sandwich with a curling drizzle, Randy placed the top half of the brioche, giving it a gentle smush to set it. Randy had to resist giving the buttered, toasted bun a pat. “ _ There _ we are,” Randy breathed, a quick fold of paper having the sandwich wrapped and ready. He presented it on one of their complementary trays - a paper cup full of salted pretzels, soft cookie, and a tall drink completed the bundle. 

Randy beamed with pride, pushing it towards the customer who near slobbering at the tray. “I hope it’s as much a pleasure to eat as it was to make, and oh - that’ll be an even five!” All he got out the apparently starved blonde was a hurried nod, digging into his pocket to fish out the cash, muttering an  _ “oh,  _ yeah. _ ” _

“Geez, almost forgot all about that! That’s some talent you got there, dude. I think that’s the best sandwich I’ve ever... _ heard _ ,” he chortled, passing the five - and an extra two, towards Randy. He blinked at what could only be a  _ tip _ . 

“Keep the change, dude!” He said, grabbing the tray, a few pretzels already stuffed in his mouth, talking around them. “You deserve it!” Randy was left gawking at the blonde’s retreating back, then back down to the money. A warm flush came to his face, hands working fast to put what was owed in the draw, keeping the tip for himself. 

Randy’s pocket burned with the paper weight of the dollars, peeking behind his shoulder at once, as if his boss would reveal herself from thin air to catch him. Randy was only  _ half _ sure Ms. Crudo had no such power, yet he was still taking glances behind himself, the door leading to the back of the shop still very much closed. 

“Yo, dude?”

Randy’s reaction was, of course, fear. He leapt back, nearly out of his own skin, startling the cringing customer into a fright all his own. Strands of yellow fell into the boy’s face, showing his palms - one of them; his left was his sandwich, already half-eaten, in his right was his tray. “Forgot to ask for some pickles,” he explained, nudging his head towards the section among the greens. “Couple of those dills, maybe? Don’t worry about slicin’ ‘em, I kinda like to crunch on ‘em myself.”

Randy - _ hear _ d him, the words echoed in his skull as if it were hollow, emptying his thoughts until all that was left was a single word:  _ pickles. _

It was - silly, childish even, he’d been actively pushing the very thought of  _ those _ out of his head. Now, it was all he could hear, think of. His lips trembled, tongue licking over his teeth, suddenly dry and sticking. “P- _ pickles? _ ” Randy almost  _ hissed _ , throat tight and tongue stuck against his teeth, the word felt like it _ burnt _ his lips.

The blonde nodded enthusiastically, jutting a pinkie at the shallow tub, Randy knowing exactly what he was pointing to - but he didn’t dare turn to look. “Yep, lemme get that one on top, looks  _ fresh. _ ”

Randy’s stomach dropped, swallowing heavily, forcing a smile onto his face. “Y-yes, they are! We, uh, we have a local f-farmer grow them for us! F-from field t-to barrel before the dew’s dried! Our b-brine’s the best, and so our are p-pickles!”

Nodding again, the blonde waited, still eyeing the pickles. “Great, could I get one?” 

Randy blinked, slowly. At his sides, his hands shook, balling into tight fists he hid behind his back. “Ah,” Randy brought his eyes to the side, looking towards the top of the food shield, averting his eyes from the pickles. “S-sure thing! Let me just-” Randy swallowed hard, taking a single step to the side, pushing himself that much closer to the pickles. He grabbed the mini pair of tongs sitting on the counter, taking a hard gulp as he did. “Grab it.” 

Randy stared straight ahead, getting a slightly unnerved look out of the blonde, as he fumbled blindly for the pickles. “Aheh, pardon me,” Randy apologized, an awkward smile pulling his lips. He couldn’t look at them, he  _ couldn’t _ . That made matters difficult.

Behind the shield, the blonde tried to guide him, gesturing over the plastic with a free pinkie. “Uhh, little more to the left...lil’ more..” 

Randy tucked his bottom lip away, eyes on the ceiling and face feeling _ inflamed _ . This was ridiculous, and likely cause for cross contamination. Randy willed himself to look, quickly. It wouldn’t take more than a peek. 

Randy glanced down, finding the brine filled tub and grabbing as many of the dils as the tongs could hold. He scooted back towards the counter, dropping them onto the customer’s tray with a breathless outburst.  _ “Thereyouare, pleasecomeagain! _ ” Randy didn’t so much say it as he did  _ wheeze _ it, gone in a burst of speed towards the back door. 

The customer was left standing there, blinking at the closing door. “Uh, thanks, dude!” 

Randy had washed his hands  _ thrice _ over before he stopped lathering them, the sweet citrus of the restroom’s hand soap wafting up and hitting him with all the force of a speeding truck full of ripe oranges. It was just revolting enough to clean the clinging, salty scent of the pickles off his fingers. The mirror was fully steamed by the time he was finished, wringing his hands of droplets and snatching a length of paper towel, patting away the water.

“That was  _ far _ too close for my liking,” he muttered, nose wrinkled up at the closeness of his hands, the  _ reek _ of orange rind on them near overwhelming. “God, I can’t believe I touched them, and they were so-” Randy stopped rubbing his hands, clasping his hands together, shoulders slumping with his heavy sigh. 

“ _ Firm. _ I bet they’re delicious.” Balling the paper towel, Randy tossed it into the trash. “Oh, how did he describe them? Ah, yes,  _ crunchy. _ ” Remarkably so, he imagined. Their skin was tough, perfectly chilled and just  _ begging _ to be eaten. Alas, time and experience told him that doing so would be -  _ counterproductive _ to keeping his job. 

“Pickles on turkey, who ever heard of such a thing?” Randy muttered, shaking his hands through the air. It’d taken only that to nearly have him cave, and it wasn’t like he could hide the pickles - could he? Randy pursed his lips, humming at the idea. “It  _ would  _ make things easier.” Lips tilting into a frown, Randy shook his head. “No, they’re a sandwich staple, it wouldn’t be right.” Besides, someone was bound to complain. No, it didn’t seem to be any easy way out of his predicament.

Looking into the mirror, Randy scrubbed the look of defeat off his face, steeling himself with a hard glare. “It’s going to be  _ fine _ , Hapukurk. What’s the worst that could happen?  _ Everyone  _ ordering sandwiches with pickles?” He had to laugh, easing the tightest of coiling worry in his chest. “That’s  _ very  _ unlikely.”

Everyone was ordering sandwiches with pickles. It felt like an insult, an ongoing and cruel joke at his expense. Reubens, ordered with pickles. Subs stacked high with meaty, crisp filling, and sided with a  _ pickle. _ Order after order, the lunch rush came with a hit to their upfront supply. He didn’t acknowledge the absence of the pickles when the tub finally went empty, neglected them until-

“Oh, I didn’t notice we were out.” Ms. Crudo had been making her rounds around the deli, waiting on a customer when she’d picked the empty tray up, brine sloshing as she stuck it his way. “Randy, be a dear and get some more out the fridge, please.” Ms. Crudo gave Randy a passing glance, gesturing for her customer to swipe their card. The reader gave a disdainful noise, Randy saw her brow twitch. There should be a vat of them back there.” 

Oh, the  _ vat. _ Randy had nearly fainted when he’d first seen it roll in; a huge barrel, pickles left soaking in the farmer’s specialty brine. Randy could just see it - cracking the lid off, letting those trapped fumes rise up and soak in-

The cash register’s clang as it opened had Randy spinning back to reality, Ms. Crudo cocking a thin brow at him. “Randy, if you don’t mind?” The brine jostled about in the tub, pale green and alluring. Randy had to stop his hands from shaking as he took it.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Randy said, a thick gulp following, holding his breath as he clutched it near. “Right away!” With his lungs already burning high in his chest, Randy made quick work of walking to the back door, all but sprinting down the hall when he broke into it. The cooler wasn’t far from the entrance; around the corner and it was just a pull of the heavy door, the barrel smackdab in the middle of the chilly room.

He could smell them from here, the barest hint of a familiar sour in the cool air. Randy breathed through his mouth on instinct, almost tasting it, almost. Shutting his mouth at once, Randy let out a shiver, gulping thickly. “Why _ me? _ ” The universe had to be conspiring against him, there was no other explanation. 

Randy took a breath, a long step, and took hold of the handle on the top of the barrel. Slowly, he opened it, the rise of brine and salt like a slap to his senses. “Don’t breathe, don’t breathe…”

He returned to the store front, red-faced, lungs burning, but his task complete; Ms. Crudo took the refilled tub from his clammy hands with a weary smile. 

“Perfect timing!” Gloved hands plucked the pickles, coming to rest on her thumb, thin knife slitting between her fingers chopping them into thin slices. She scooped them up at once, placing them neatly on a bed of lettuce. “You’re a doll, Randy! Now, we’ve got a few orders, so try to keep up and let me know if you need anything!” 

Randy was still catching his breath as he settled up against the counter, pulling a smile onto his face as he looked up at their first of  _ many _ customers, it  _ was  _ the lunch rush, afterall. “What could I get for you?” 

The scruffy-looking man pursued their menu, a hairy hand resting over his craggly jaw. “Yeah, lemme get a BLT, extra B. On sourdough, throw some pickles in there.”

Randy’s fingers wrinkled the sheet of paper he’d grabbed. “P-pickles, you say?” God, not  _ again _ .

The construction worker gave a nod, hungry eyes finding the pickles among the selection of vegetables. “ _ Extra _ , if ya’ don’t mind.” 

Randy’s smile was painfully kept up, pulling on his plastic gloves with his teeth gritted. “R-right away, sir!” This had to be some cosmic joke, it was just so _ unfair. _

Resisting temptation came easier when the rush was over and the pickles were gone. Randy gave a forlorn sigh, breath fogging the plastic shield - he squeezed the trigger of his spray bottle, wiping away the smudge. “What a  _ day, _ ” he rued.

Above and behind the counter, Ms. Crudo’s eyes were lit brightly with delight, practiced fingers dancing over the pad of her calculator. “I’ll say, these numbers are incredible! Our best day yet!” Her eyes narrowed behind her thin glasses, punching in the final digits, her smile growing wider with each press. “Randy, my dear, _ you’re _ incredible!”

Randy’s reflection wore a warm blush, and no amount of wiping would take that away. “Ah, just doing my job, I suppose.” It was humble, remarkably so, given the fact that he’d spun delectable art from their selection. “Speaking of which, I still have those trays to wash.” Randy held his breath to avoid fogging it all over. “Oh,  _ joy. _ ” 

Through the plastic, Ms. Crudo’s frown was distended into an exaggerated scowl. “Oh, my god, _ no _ , Randy! You’ve worked hard today, you should head home, doll.” 

Randy stood, chest bubbling with a bit of strange pride, wiping the last of the cleaner off the plastic. “It’s alright, ma’am. It shouldn’t take too long, and once I’m done, I can close up for the night!” 

Ms. Crudo’s expression didn’t change, in fact, she only looked guilty. “Oh, Randy, I  _ couldn’t. _ ” 

Randy gave her a half-smile, a tired shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve got no plans for tonight.” 

Granted, that didn’t mean he wanted to spend it elbow deep in  _ dishwater. _ Randy pulled his hand from the sudsy water, a choked gas squeezed out of him by the revolting zing of grapefruit. Randy swallowed hard, picking up another tray and dunking it under the foaming surface. “Starting to regret this with each dish…” 

He didn’t have much left to do; Ms. Crudo helped him tidy up before he’d all but forced her out, leaving him alone - well, him and the dishes. 

Randy raised the clean tray out the sink, holding his breath as he ran it under the warm stream of water, setting it to dry with the others. A yawn stretched his jaws, Randy’s arms rising above his head, falling back to the rack of trays, sliding the plastic into the water. “Nearly done, just a few-” Randy’s tired eyes blinked, nose twitching at the sour aroma drifting around him. “-more?” Randy’s blurry vision focused, pupils blown wide.

“I-it  _ can’ _ t be.” And there was, on the cusp of the tray about to plunge into the water, sliced to uniformity, the pickles. 

Carefully, Randy plucked them up, one by one, gathering them in his wet palm and letting the tray slip under the bubbles. Randy tore a paper towel from the nearby roll, patting his hand try and shifting the slices into his clean palm. Randy’s breath came out as a shudder, bringing his palm to his nose and breathing deeply, the burn of absorbed brine making his blood run hot. 

“Oh, God, I-I  _ shouldn’t. _ ” He  _ knew _ he shouldn’t, not  _ here  _ \- Randy took another long sniff, heart pounding harder in his chest, a warming thrum beating in his ears. He licked his lips, just imagining their crunch - they were untouched,  _ wasted _ ; Randy couldn’t stand the sight, couldn’t  _ resist. _

Randy popped one of the slices onto his tongue and felt his taste buds  _ sing _ at the first,  _ longed for _ taste. “Oh,  _ God, _ ” he sobbed, tears budding in his eyes, mouth puckering - Randy’s tongue stuck the slice to the roof of his mouth, curling around it and sucking. “Oh,  _ at last. _ ” He’d suffered through the day, the pickles had been literally in hand so many times - and every time it’d been snatched from him, eaten as a cruel mocking. 

There was no one stealing these from him, now, and he was going to  _ savor _ it. Randy’s teeth felt like they were _ tingling _ when he crunched into the crisp flesh of the pickles, tasting electric as he popped one after another into his gnashing mouth. 

Randy’s hand came empty, but the  _ brine  _ \- Randy didn’t hesitate to lick his palm, moaning into his hand as he lapped up the salty remains. A flicker of frustration rose in his mind, Randy biting his lip, scrubbing his palm down his face, sticking out his tongue to try for another taste. “Hmh, gone too  _ soon. _ ” 

He  _ had  _ to have another, and he knew just to find them. Randy stepped away from the sink - swaying further back than he intended, head - shoulders, arms and all, feeling heavier. Randy steadied himself, arms swinging like weights at his sides, wrists stretching past the rolled sleeves of his sweater. Randy’s eyes blinked over himself, feeling -  _ warm _ ; a pleasant sensation of fuzz on his skin. 

“G-gosh, already?” Randy felt stretched,  _ bigger.  _ It felt  _ good _ , but his stomach - it nagged at him, the lingering salt between his teeth sucked away and leaving him craving  _ more _ . “Hng, o- _ one _ more couldn’t hurt, could it?” He rested a hand over his slowly baring stomach, hem of his sweater crawling up his abdomen - a growl rumbled in the pit of his gut, the grip of  _ hunger  _ focusing his thoughts in one direction:  _ food.  _

More precisely,  _ pickles _ . “God, just  _ one more. _ ” Randy groaned, stumbling away from the sink, new weight making his footsteps lumbering ones, harder now because the vice his pants had become; Randy grunted, legs stretching the seams of his pants, throbbing - _ thickening _ calves bulging through his jeans. “Ooouch, that  _ hurts, _ ” Randy whined, voice dipping low His thighs pinched,  _ hard _ ; it was a visceral swell, inner seams coming open from the shuddering flesh, flexing hard enough to put a stutter in Randy’s stride - he didn’t stop, just grunted through the tight resistance. The gap between his legs quickly vanished, filled with throbbing, still aching to  _ grow _ flesh. 

The halls were annoyingly difficult to navigate, especially when he was so _ hungry _ he couldn't  _ think _ straight. His stomach growled constantly, sounding upset, growling and gurgling against itself, all but demanding  _ more _ of what he’d been missing out on. Idly, Randy sucked on his teeth, trying his best to get some iota of brine on his tongue. He licked, desperate for  _ something  _ \- he got nothing.

An angry heat flashed through his blood, snarling through his teeth in a growl, feeling how his ribs, _ pecs _ stretched around his inhale, size kept even after he breathed, sweater stretched ridiculously wide over his broadening chest. “Unhf, where  _ is _ it?” 

A split in the threads began to form at the divide of his pecs, Randy taking a deep breath, tongue rolling out of his mouth when the comforting bite of pickles hit his nose. “Oh, I’m so close, I can just _ taste _ them!” And soon he’d have as many as he liked, as many as there  _ were _ , perhaps. The thought had him running, thundering through the halls, skidding to stop when he finally came upon the cooler door. Randy wore a mad grin, thickened fingers gripping the door, leaving dents in the frame as he yanked it open.

The cooler smelled of frozen brine, Randy shivered, the salty air rolling over his senses and sending his stomach into an uproar, sounding even louder in the tight space. The barrel, lid ackew - he’d done it in his haste to get out. Randy’s hands gripped the sides of the barrel, the rest of the room bleeding away from focus, slowly closing his hand around the lid.  _ “Finally.” _ Randy plucked the lid off, clattering to the floor as he dunked his hand into the brine, soaking up to his forearm. He hand plunged from the barrel with a trove of pickles in his wider palm, bunching them together and taking a hard crunch out of the lot of them. They _ juiced _ themselves in his mouth, freezing brine gushing around his teeth, his mouthful forced down with an impatient swallow. 

Randy could  _ feel _ the size that came from it, taking another bite and groaning when his entire _ body _ responded with a surge of mass. Randy took another bite, mouth already  _ full _ \- with another greedy crunch, Randy had finished the bunch, lips stretching to contain the mouthful. 

He swallowed, mouth feeling a little less full, his clothes, however, only grew tighter. Randy swallowed again, sliding down his throat with an electric aftertaste. His sweater only unraveled around his surging bulk, fraying from the stress of his growth. Randy let out a heavy breath when the mass hit his stomach, sweater giving up its fight and ripping down his chest, sweating flesh raising in goosebumps. “Urh,  _ oops. _ ” Randy finished his mouthful with a nervous swallow, biting his lip as he  _ swelled _ again; the split between his pecs deepened, dense muscle flexing at the touch of freezing air. 

“My sweater…” He _ liked _ this one. Randy stuck his hand into the brine again, getting another handful of the pickles and biting them to the middle, groaning around it with abandon. “Oh, it’s worth it,” he mumbled with his cheeks full, swallowing roughly and shoving the final half of the pickles into his mouth. “It’s  _ so  _ worth it.” He could buy another sweater, this was  _ priceless _ . 

Randy dipped into the barrel again, fishing another helping handful, popping a whole one into his mouth, chewing into the huge gherkin with a rumble in his throat. “So good,” he groaned, breathing harder, feeling his skin, muscle and bone stretch out; it was a buzzing warp under his skin, fissions of heat dancing in his veins, dimly aware of anything but the sour taste sizzling on his tongue. 

“So...good..._good,_” Randy mumbled through his perpetual mouthful, his thick swallows landing heavier in his stomach, a solid weight building behind his ribs. It felt_ good,_ _really good._ Randy fed himself another, swallowing, again, and _again,_ clearing his mouthful at last and - wheezing, a twinge of discomfort coming from below.

“ _ Ughhh, _ ” Randy’s hand came to  _ smack  _ against his stomach, feeling round and  _ hard _ under his wet, soured palm. Ribbons of his flesh showed through the tears in his sweater, kneading into the budding bulge with no tenderness, groaning at his rough caress, chest fluttering - belly  _ gurgling  _ when a long awaited bubble wound up from his indulged gut.

Randy’s belch tasted of pickles, harsh and tongue-curlingly sour. His tongue lolled out around a relieved sigh when it was over. “Mhmm,  _ gooooood.”  _ He felt  _ full _ , he sure looked it; his sweater hung over the widest point of his gut in shreds, what remained bunching around his exploding pecs. He picked at it, chuckling at how easily it came away from his gut. It was so _ big _ \- Randy gave it a playful slap, a belch rumbling its way out, belly clutching tight then  _ blowing _ out. “Hrrm, so  _ big. _ ” Randy was huge, _ way  _ bigger than was intended for the cooler. He was slowly getting a crook in his neck from crouching, all the undue pressure focused on the engorged sphere of his gut; he was too big, indulgence growing him into the small space. Randy chuffed, giving a flex of his arm, watching rippling, thickly veined flesh rip through his ruined sleeves. “Randy... _ likeeee… _ ” 

Randy’s stomach growled, sounding  _ starved. _ Randy dug into the barrel again, not wasting any time popping one, two, then three into his mouth at once. He shifted around the barrel, spreading his thighs, wearing the tatters of his pants, splitting around the meat of his engorged legs. He had to crane his neck to avoid butting against the ceiling of the cooler. 

“ _ Ooof,  _ why...room so  _ tiny? _ ” Randy forced himself smaller as he continued to  _ grow _ , pulling pickles out the barrel by the handful, sucking them dry of brine before crunching them down to their round ends. His stomach groaned its complaint at the added pressure, his forced crouch making him feel ready to  _ burst. _

Randy’s hand over his belly was full, warm flesh, distended under the mass he’d eaten -  _ continued _ to eat. Randy’s fingers raked over the surface of the brine, catching the pickles that floated to the top. He stuffed his cheeks full of them, chewing minimally before swallowing, groaning like a gored beast around the taste, sucking his fingers clean of the salty brine. 

Dunking his hand back into the barrel, Randy’s heavy knuckles struck the bottom, fingers clasping blindly into the sloshing brine - a grunt shoved his chest out, brine up to his elbows, palm coming up empty. “Wh _ -whuh? _ ” Randy searched for a few seconds longer, impatience and  _ hunger  _ getting the back of him, tearing his arm out of the barrel and leaving it jostling. 

“Hng, want... ** _more..!_ ** _ ” _ His soaked hand joined his other over his churning, gargantuan stomach. Randy belched, the relief far too fleeting; the contents of his stomach tried - struggled to settle, his meaty grip squeezing belch after searing belch out of his overstuffed tank. “ ** _Uuuuuuurp_ ** ,  _ ughhhh. _ ” 

More sounded... _ good. _ Randy swallowed, roughly. “Randy  ** _thirsty…_ ** ” He was stuffed solid, but the brine looked  _ delicious _ . Randy’s hands gripped its round sides, wood giving a worrying groan at the reckless pressure. It lifted easily, but it jostled fiercely, liquid weight unsteady in his clumsy hands. Randy bit his lip, grunting, trying to  _ sip _ from it - its jiggling contents made that tricky, spilling over him, soaking him in a salty chill. “ _ Hrng _ , stay -  _ still. _ ” Randy’s hands found some kind of grip on the barrel, one flat against the bottom, the other clutching it by the side. 

The lip of the barrel fell against Randy’s lips, taking a deep huff of the brine’s biting scent as a wave of green washed at him. He crashed against his face, Randy sputtering into the soaking slap, his grip loosening and almost letting the barrel drop - Randy’s fingers squeezed the wood, whining squeaks coming from the barrel, Randy’s grip leaving deep impressions. Randy snorted, blinking, wincing and grunting at how much it _ hurt  _ to open his eyes. He didn’t need to see, he just needed to drink. 

And that’s what he did. Randy tipped the barrel again, slowly; the flood came in ebbs now, touching his lips, Randy taking a hurried sip and letting the brine slosh back into itself. Again, he’d tip it, getting a feel for how the weight adjusted. He leaned it in, easing his head back and letting the ebb turn into a flow, a salty current down his bobbing throat.

Randy hummed around the flow, gulping again, letting the brine splash into his belly, feeling packed full and bloated. His stomach  _ sloshed _ , skin feeling at its limits, frays showing in pink scars over his gut. Randy’s arms trembled, the barrel tilting back from his lips, stomach rumbling up a storm - the barrel’s weight was half-braced on his distended gut, and he couldn’t see, but he could feel, but there had to be more in him than the barrel.

“ ** _Orrrrrugh_ ** , Randy tummy... _ hurrrrrrt. _ ” He whined, echoing into the half-full barrel. Randy’s arms flexed, tilting the barrel back to his mouth, taking a long swig of the brine. His stomach responded with an annoyed twinge of pain, skin feeling ready to split. Randy grunted, and took a long gulp, furrowing his brow through the audible protests of his swollen tank. It tasted too  _ good _ to stop, it hurt just as much - Randy’s gulps were labored, his breakneck pace had been halved by the itching stretch of his belly. 

The barrel lifted, much easier now that most of its content was in his stomach; Randy’s back  _ hurt  _ from the weight of it, leaning have to offset it by some degree, but nothing he did could alleviate the  _ strain _ of it. It was just too  _ big _ , and  _ bigger _ still. The barrel was close to parallel to the ceiling, Randy crouching lower, lower, the bulk of his gut almost touching the ground - with the last few pints of brine, it nearly did.

Stretch,  _ wobble _ ,  ** _grooooan_ ** . Randy’s gut swayed heavily, gravid and ripe, skin frayed into sensitive pink ribbons - Randy’s mouth ran dry after swallowing down the last of the brine, the final drops hitting his tongue. “ _ Oooorrrrrruugh _ , Randy feel…” His words were lost to the bubble of acrid gas that rose in his gut, rushing up his throat and filling his cheeks.

“ ** _Hooooorrrrrruggh_ ** ,  _ oof. _ ” Randy let the barrel drop, clattering solidly on the floor, his hands feeling over the bulbous swell of his gut. “Too...much.” Randy puffed, careful not to press into his belly too hard, tiny pangs of soreness streaking over the flesh, stretch marks tender and feeling raw under his touch. The frigid edge to the air had lessened, the door wide open behind him letting out most of the chill. 

Randy began to stand, feeling his gut rolled from the motion - it was a wet, nauseous thing, all he could taste was fresh brine in his throat; it felt like he’d swallowed all he could, stomach struggling around his monstrous indulgence. 

Randy broke into a grin, hands smacking over it, wincing through the stinging stretches of flesh. “Randy  _ fullllll. _ ” Very, he was downright  _ perky _ . He’d certainly grown into his weight, the rest of him in the barest scraps of his pants, left in revealing tatters over the herculean sirations in his legs. His sweater -  _ ruined _ , catching around his armpits, bulging biceps shaking what was left of his sleeves away, gut the center of attention among his massive frame. 

His stomach gurgled, Randy’s sheeks puffing up with the force of his belch. His gut growled, and he felt -  _ hungry. _

Randy gripped his gut, a starving growl trembling from deep within his core. “Hrn, want more.” More sounded good, he was starting to feel the grip of hunger start to pain him again. His craving for pickle had been satisfied - for now, but there was more to the cooler than the barrel. In his frenzy, everything else had been secondary to his brine-soaked treats, Randy looked past the wheels of fine cheese and slabs of cured meats. Unsliced, whole,  _ yummy. _

Randy’s stomach begged with a raucous gurgle, licking his salty lips over at the selection. “Mhmm, Randy  _ like _ cheese…” It didn’t matter which one, all he wanted was to  _ eat.  _ His nose twitched, sniffing at the air, now that the brine had been removed, the funky aroma of cheese was far more prominent. He snuffed, exhaling with his long tongue lolling from his mouth. “Smell _ yummy. _ ” The racks were lined with block after wheel of cheese; orange cheddars, holed swisses, smoky goudas, Randy’s stomach gave a tempted gurgle, whining and churning anew. 

Randy gave a slobbering lick of his lips, taking a moment’s consideration to pick up an orange-rind brick;  _ muenster _ , its enormous weight carried up to his lips, mouth opening wide and biting into its thick outside. It gave, soft and yielding under his hard bite, the rich cream of it melting over his tongue. “Mhm, so  _ goooood, _ ” Randy groaned, cheeks packed with the sweet rind, soft crumbles of cheese falling out of his mouth, only a few of them snagged out of the air by his tongue. It was tangy, but it was no pickle - Randy didn’t seem to mind, taking another massive bite out the log while swallowing his mouthful. It struck his stomach with an audible  _ plunk _ , skin feeling tight, stretch marks twinging at him. 

Randy grumbled, brow knitting up at the second twang of pressure and tension. “Hrmh, belly  _ hurt, _ ” he complained around his mouthful, his thick swallowing only adding to that pain. His stomach resembled more of a  _ balloon _ than anything attached to him, too huge to be real, getting  _ bigger _ . Randy ate the brick down until it was crumbles in his palm, scooping those up with his teeth, tangy bits gnashed up and gulped down.

Randy’s belly looked dangerously taut, ready to bust open from how much he’d shoved into it, barely any wobble to it anymore. His hands nursed the surface, doing little for the immense pressure inside of it, no amount of kneading getting more than a paltry burp out of him; Randy was  _ full _ , he should’ve stopped.

Randy’s stomach disagreed. It urged him for  _ another _ ,  ** _more._ ** He felt  _ stuffed _ , yet his stomach  _ begged  _ him to sink his teeth into the next wheel, the nauseating sensation of being stretched to his widest point and then past it swayed him not to. His belly gave a churning outcry, Randy whining around its fussing gurgle. 

“ _ Hrg, _ okay,  _ one _ more…” Randy barginned with his stomach, picking up a round cut of meat from the rack, wrapped in plastic - quickly losing its covering, Randy tearing the clinging wrapping away and sinking his teeth into it. Randy chewed into the roast beef, savory and juicy, cold shreds falling into his mouth. He ate slowly, nursing heaping mouthful through bouts of nausea, one hand feeding himself while the other tended to his overworked stomach. 

It  _ hurt. _ His stomach kept groaning, aching, begging him to stop but punishing him with hunger pangs when he tried to stop. Randy kept eating, out of desperation, for the hunger to be sated, for his gut to stop hurting. Randy was halfway through the roast beef when things got distracting, stomach flaring up with hot flashes of tension, skin fraying further - flushed, seaming gut surging wider, meat joining cheese and brine in the loaded tank. 

The roast beef was reduced to scraps in his hand, and his stomach -  _ bubbled _ , jam packed and sounding ravenous. Randy burped, and grabbed the next wheel of cheese, nosing over its stinking rind before biting into it. It was a sharp, dry cheddar. It went down roughly, landing heavy in his stomach. His belly stewed, and Randy reached for the rack again, recognizing the white meat of turkey. He tore through the plastic with his teeth, wasting no time biting into it, mouth still full of cheddar. 

Plastic wrap, crumbling cheese and shredded meat fell over his chest, Randy taking a bite out of each, not concerning himself with what wasn’t getting into his mouth. He swallowed, stomach complaining, wanting more. He groaned, shoving the last of the turkey into his mouth, packing it further with the final corner of the cheese. Randy could barely swallow, feeling like his stomach had been filled up to his throat. Randy tried to burp, strained to, brought his hands over his gut to squeeze it; the tension that pushed back was worrying, his thick fingers not even making the skin dimple. His stomach gave a content murmur, all its fire snuffed out under the weight of his gluttony.

“ ** _Ooooooorgh_ ** _ ... _ Randy belly...no feel good.” It felt overworked, pushed to his bodily limits and then some; now he was suffering for it. His knees trembled, bending and buckling - he hit the ground with a heavy crash, his gut didn’t even move. Randy’s hands were quick to give it a much needed rub, throat working hard to try to ease up gas - Randy’s face reddened with the strain, a stuffed groan rumbling from his chest. “Too much…” 

Getting comfortable was impossible, not when he looked and felt ready to  _ explode _ . His stomach stood out against his muscular frame, it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to figure that it made up most of his weight, especially considering just what he’d eaten. Randy’s belly gave a suspicious growl, Randy giving it a hard slap. “Stupid belly,” he grumbled shallowly, breath stolen from his lungs from the size of his gut, a hard thing up in his chest. “Make Randy feel...sleepy…” 

Randy’s eyes blinked low, puffing quietly. “ _ Urggh,  _ Randy feel…” 

His stomach bubbled, Randy’s half-lidded eyes landing on the racks, meats and cheeses left untouched. His lips were wet by his long tongue, gut groaning aloud. 

** _“Hungrrryyyyy….”_ **


End file.
